


Disagreements and Sushi

by junko



Series: Strawberrry Fields Forever [8]
Category: Bleach, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:26:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichigo finally gets a decent breakfast at Hogwarts, but has a strange run-in with the professor of the Defense Against Dark Arts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disagreements and Sushi

**Author's Note:**

> It's considered the hieght of rudeness to stick chopsticks straight upright in a bowl of food (particularly rice, however,) because they look like incense sticks left for the dead at funerals. Dumbeldore knows what he's doing in this scene and is trying to shock Ichigo a bit.

As a rule, Hufflepuffs supported each other. They made one exception this morning: no one wanted to sit anywhere near Ichigo at breakfast. 

Ichigo didn’t notice the horrified stares and plugged up noses. He nearly cried tears of joy when he saw a bowl of natto--sticky, stringy fermented soybeans—appear in front of him. There was miso and broiled salted salmon and even pickled ume plums. He was going to send those house elves a bouquet and a love note, he was so happy.

Only Cedric Diggory was brave enough to ask, “What the bloody hell is that?”

“Food,” Ichigo said around bulging cheeks, “Actual food.”

The Weasley twins came over to stand among the growing crowd of curious Hogwart’s students to mutter, “If we knew you were going to order something so disgusting, we would never have agreed to get you into the kitchen.”

A gentle clearing of a throat had everyone turn to see headmaster Dumbledore. “What’s all the excitement?”

Some people scattered instantly, but George—Ichigo could tell, thanks to the purpling bruise under his left eye--said, “Check out what’s for breakfast in Japan, sir.”

Ichigo’s mouth was full or he would have explained that this was a bit traditional and it wasn’t like he didn’t know what an Eggo was, but suddenly Dumbledore’s hand was on his shoulder, and he peered over it at the various dishes laid out. He reached for the serving chopsticks and helped himself to one of the plums. “Ah, yes, tsukemono. Very sour. Lovely.”

Then, quite deliberately, the professor stuck the chopsticks into Ichigo’s natto and left them standing straight up. 

Ichigo choked in horror. He grabbed the chopsticks and pulled them out. Turning, he opened his mouth to ask what the hell Dumbledore was playing at, but something intense and focused in the professor’s eye dried the words from Ichigo’s throat. The headmaster smiled innocently, “Do find your way to my office this afternoon, Mr. Kurosaki. I’ve been very patient, don’t you think?” Ichigo nodded absently, and the professor tucked his hands into the sleeves of his robes, as though they were a kimono. Then, over his half-moon glasses, he gave Ichigo another stern look, “Perhaps you should also consider sharing your bounty with your younger sister.”

A blush bloomed across Ichigo’s nose at Dumbeldore’s last comment. 

Dumbledore drifted back toward the head table with smiles and nods to everyone. Fred leaned down to Ichigo and said, “I do believe you were just schooled, Hufflepuff.”

“And by a Gryffindor, too,” agreed George with a laugh as they went back to their own breakfasts.

#

Karin, it turned out, had already made her own provisions for food. “Sushi?” Ichigo said in frustration, “How are you getting fresh sushi?”

“You know that weird red-haired kid from the candy shop who has a crush on Yuzu? I think he figures I’ll put in a good word for him or something, because he’s been sending regular care packages.” she asked. It was a break between classes, and Ichigo spotted her sitting on grass near the Quidditch field. Karin was watching the Slytherins practice, while eating from a plastic container full of the little rolls. 

“Really?” Ichigo stood, leaning against the railing of the bleachers. He had his books in a courier bag slung over one shoulder, and his arms crossed in front of his chest. He’d dispensed with the tie some time ago, and he had a couple of buttons undone on the shirt. “How is he managing that? Isn’t the fish spoiled by the time the owl gets it here?”

She shrugged, “Magic. Duh.”

“I can’t believe you never shared with me. I’ve been getting stomach cramps.”

Karin squinted up at him. “Look, I didn’t realize you were so helpless, okay? I kind of thought this was down to you, anyway. I don’t really know those freaks. You’re the one who hangs out at that shop all the time. I figured you set something up for me.”

Ichigo nodded. He hadn’t, of course, but it was strangely like Urahara to think to take care of Karin, while completely ignoring him. The bell was going to ring any minute, so Ichigo asked one last question, “You doing okay? I mean, classes and everything?”

She gave him another funny look, but then said, “Sure. I like it here. It’s nice knowing what’s going on for once. And, when I see a ghost in the hall, nobody acts like they don’t see it too.”

Nice dig. “Yeah, well, I’ve got to go. See you around, you little twerp,” he said lovingly.

#

There was something seriously wrong with the Defense Against Dark Arts instructor, Ichigo decided from the back of the room. He wore a purple turban and had a terrible stutter. But, honestly, at Hogwart’s those traits didn’t stand out all that much. What Ichigo noticed was that the guy was terrified.

Like, all the time.

Plus, he seemed to have an extra soul. 

Maybe.

Ichigo could never be sure with these English wizards. He’d never been all that good at sensing stuff like spiritual pressure, but it seemed to Ichigo that their reistsu was always fragmented. They kept part of it in themselves, part of it their wands, part of it in their familiars, and gods only knew where else. But what struck Ichigo as odd was that Quirrell-sensei’s alternate reistsu felt heavier, darker, and… much, much more powerful.

It was almost like he had a Hollow-side, too.

Maybe Ichigo should try talking to the nervous little professor after class.

But that was still a half-hour from now and since Ichigo wasn’t entirely failing this class, he decided to try to pay attention to the actual lecture. The professor was saying something about effective spells to use against… a banshee? What on earth was that? Ichigo tried to flip through the text for a quick definition, but the index only listed things like known haunts, famous sightings, and the spell Quirrell-sensei was discussing.

Ichigo turned to the back of his notebook and took out the ridiculous quill pen and carefully wrote the sounds for “banshee” in katakana. The page was almost full. So many things he’d never heard of. Meanwhile, did they ever talk about hitodama or kubikajiri or anything actually useful? 

It seemed unfair. If he were at home, he’d be spending his nights actually defending an entire town against “dark arts,” namely Hollows. Here, all they did was talk about this stuff. No action, nothing. The likelihood Ichigo would actually meet a banshee in Karakura was pretty slim, and even if he did, he’d be more likely to use Zangetsu on it than his flimsy wand, anyway.

Finally, at least, class was over. When Ichigo continued to sit in his seat, Cedric Diggory hesitated at the door. “You coming?”

Ichigo shook his head, watching Quirrell erase the blackboard. “I need to ask the professor something.”

“Do you want me to wait?”

“It’s private,” Ichigo explained.

“Oh, right,” Cedric said looking a little surprised and curious. He stayed paused half-way out the door, though this time he seemed to be hoping Ichigo would offer more. 

Ichigo was sure Cedric knew about his nightmares. The night before last, Ichigo had to run from their shared bedroom with his hand over half his face. It had taken two hours of Buddhist mediation in front of the common room’s fire to get his ‘other’ back under control. But, it was clear that repetitive mantras weren’t going to cut it for much longer. These days it seemed it took only the slightest frustration to bring that heavy, brittle feeling to his face or to start his eye clouding over. Cedric finally nodded, giving Ichigo a long look like maybe he’d guessed all this, “Well, good luck, then. See you after lunch.”

Ichigo nodded absently. He packed up his books and made his way up to the front of the classroom. He stood for a while in front of the professor’s desk without saying anything, trying to formulate the words. How did you ask a total stranger about something like this? ‘Excuse me, did you kind-of-sort-of-die and end up partly possessed by an evil creature, because, hey, me too!’ 

When Professor Quirrell turned around, he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Oh! Um, M-m-mister Kurosaki, is it?”

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah. Uh, can I ask you something sort of… personal, but, like, Dark Arts-related?”

The professor looked acutely uncomfortable at the idea, but he nodded his head and said, “S-s-sure.”

He pointed to the turban on Quirrell’s head and asked, “You alone in there?”

“W-w-what?!” The professor seemed to be checking the exists, and he backed away from Ichigo until his back pressed against the chalkboard. He looked like a rabbit in a trap. But, then, quite suddenly, something dark seemed to pass in front of his eyes. It wasn’t quite like what Ichigo figured his other might look like, the professor’s eyes didn’t _actually_ darken or his irises turn yellow. It was more like a film or veil crossed in front of his gaze. Quirrell calmed down instantly, and he stood up straighter. “What kind of question is that, Mr. Kurosaki? Why would you ever ask such a thing?”

No stutter. Not even a trace of nervousness in that steady gaze, either.

Was this Quirrell’s ‘Other’? Ichigo slid his hand into his pants’ pocket, and curled his fingers around the substitute soul reaper pendant he always carried there.

Ichigo frowned at the new Quirrell for a long moment. With a shrug, he decided it didn’t matter which of them he talked to, “I have a similar problem. I’m sharing my headspace with someone I don’t particularly like, someone who… might… be a little bit stronger than I am, you know?”

_Damn straight, I am, boss._

_Shut up_ , Ichigo said back to the voice in his head.

“You think this is something we have in common, boy?” The professor asked, moving a step closer. He clasped his hands in front of his chest in a way that Ichigo found he didn’t like; it reminded him of a praying mantis. Ichigo’s hand tightened around the pentagram-shaped amulet in his pocket. The professor tilted his head, adding to the insect impression. “Why?”

“Why? Oh, come on. It’s fucking obvious I’m talking to someone else,” Ichigo said. “_You_ haven’t cringed in five minutes, and you forgot all about _his_ stutter. Look, I don’t really care who you are or where you came from, I just want to know--” Ichigo was about to say all he was looking for was a little advice, when a bony hand closed around his shirt, nearly jerking him off his feet.

The professor had somehow closed the distance between them in a flash, almost as if he’d used shunpō. Quirrell’s face was inches from Ichigo’s now, and he could feel the heavy, intense reistsu of the professor’s other pressing against him. Ichigo could see the monster behind his eyes clearly now, and could sense murderous intent.

Ichigo pulled the soul reaper pendant from his pocket at the same moment that Quirrell grabbed for a wand. But, they were too close for Ichigo to get his hand to his soul-chain connection at the center of his own chest. He made an instinctive attempt anyway. He ended up slamming the amulet into the center of Quirrell’s back. 

With an inhuman scream, something pushed out of the professor—

\--and into Ichigo. 

He felt the other soul shove him out of his body forcibly. He stumbled out backwards, and, suddenly Ichigo was standing behind his body in full shihakushô. In Quirrell’s grip, instead of going limp, however, Ichigo’s body straightened. The other soul seemed to be surprised… and pleased… to find itself inside Ichigo. Quirrell seemed to come to himself, too. However, the professor looked horrified to find that he was assaulting a student, and he jumped back as though Ichigo were on fire.

“M-m-my lord?” Quirrell stared at Ichigo’s body nervously. He was backing away, as though getting ready to bolt. 

“Oh, this is lovely,” Ichigo heard himself say, as his lanky body stretched and admired itself. It gazed curiously at the soul reaper amulet and nodded thoughtfully as it tucked it back in Ichigo’s pocket, “Yes, much better, in fact. This one can be all my own.”

“Actually, that’s mine,” Ichigo said, drawing Zangetsu from its sheath at his back and stepping into a fighting stance. “Get out.”

Ichigo’s body turned to face him. Despite the seriousness of the moment, Ichigo couldn’t help but look at himself and think, ‘Man, I need a haircut.’ His bright orange hair was sticking up in every direction, and he was beginning to understand why Orihime always said he looked angry. Though, with this new soul in his body, Ichigo looked down right threatening.

The invader seemed to be checking Ichigo’s pockets for something. “Ah, just the thing,” it said, finding the wand. He pointed it at Ichigo’s chest and said, “Avada—“

This was not any spell Ichigo knew, but he was taking no chances about whether it would work like kidō on his soul form. With a slash, Ichigo swung Zangestu at the outstretched wand. ‘Please fate,’ he thought as he put all his strength into it, ‘let me not slice off any of my own damn fingers.’ His aim was true and the bamboo wand shattered at contact with the gigantic blade. 

Quirrell started at the sound of the wand shattering, and ran for the door with a squeak like a mouse. 

Meanwhile, the other soul inside Ichigo’s body stared the broken wand in anger. He tossed it to the floor in irritation. “What exactly are you?” 

The answer to the invading soul’s question gave Ichigo an idea. He flipped Zangetsu over in his hands so that the blade faced away from his opponent. He lifted the hilt and slammed the character engraved at the tip of the grip into the center of his body’s forehead, the spot sometimes thought to be occupied by the third eye. 

The zanpaktō was partly designed to send reticent and stubborn souls to the afterlife. Ichigo had no idea if it would work on a ‘living’ one, but the noises his body was making made him think it was a good attack, if nothing else. Black smoke started to come out of his mouth, his nose, and his ears. It coalesced into a cloud that seemed to growl at Ichigo, and then it fled screaming from the room.

Ichigo barely managed to catch his body before it hit the floor.


End file.
